I pinched off a browning leaf from my prized aloe plant, tucking it into the pocket of my apron. The greenhouse air wrapped around me like a warm blanket, heavy with moisture and the green smell of growing things. This little glass sanctuary was the only place I truly felt in control anymore.
"There," I murmured, adjusting the small pot on its shelf. "Much better."
The careful rows of medicinal herbs of chamomile, feverfew, echinacea, stood in perfect alignment, each labeled in my neat handwriting. Order in chaos. Control in a world where I had so little of it.
Since the Conjunction five years ago, when the monsters had emerged from their realm and claimed dominion over our territories, my life as a terramares healer had become increasingly constrained. But here, among my plants, I could pretend I was still free.
The door to the greenhouse banged open, sending a shock through my system. My sister Amara stumbled in, her face streaked with tears, chest heaving.
"Lyn," she gasped, using my childhood nickname. "They've matched me."
My stomach dropped. I knew immediately what she meant. The monster-human pairing system. I'd been dreading this day.
"Who?" I asked, my fingers gripping the wooden workbench until my knuckles went white.
"Gristholm of the Fanghorn clan." Her voice broke on the name.
My blood turned to ice. The Fanghorns were notorious even among monsters, brutal warriors with a reputation for treating their human mates like possessions rather than partners.
"When?" I asked.
"Two weeks. The binding ceremony is scheduled for the full moon." Her slim shoulders shook as she collapsed against me. "I can't do it, Lyn. You've heard the stories. Their females barely survive the first year."
I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her trembling against me. Amara was barely twenty, five years younger than me, too gentle and soft-hearted for the life that awaited her with a Fanghorn.
"Listen to me," I said, pulling back to look into her red-rimmed eyes. "You are not going to marry that monster. I won't let it happen."
"But how? The matchings are final. No human has ever successfully challenged one."
I squared my shoulders. "Then I'll be the first."
The words left my mouth before I fully processed their meaning, but once spoken, I couldn't take them back. Wouldn't take them back.
"I promise you, Amara. I will find a way."
After she left, I paced the greenhouse, racking my brain for solutions. There was only one person who might knowa loophole in the monster laws, one monster, actually. The thought made my stomach clench.
Redmon.
The mapinguari warrior assigned as my mate six months ago, though we'd maintained a cold distance since the matching. He was high-ranking within the monster hierarchy, and unlike most arranged pairs, he hadn't pushed for more than the bare minimum contact required by law.
I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders and headed for the dwelling assigned to him on the border of our terramares. The path there felt impossibly long, each step heavier than the last.
His home loomed before me, a stone and timber structure that dwarfed our human buildings. I knocked on the massive wooden door, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When it swung open, I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. All eight feet of him filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing, his reddish-brown fur catching the late afternoon light. The distinctive facial features of the mapinguari made him look perpetually fierce: prominent brow, small eyes set deep, and a mouth that could open unnaturally wide to reveal formidable teeth.
"Kalyndi." His voice rumbled from his chest, surprise clear in his tone. "What brings you here?"
"I need your help," I said, the words bitter on my tongue. We'd barely spoken ten sentences to each other in six months, and now I was at his door begging for assistance.
He studied me for a long moment before stepping aside to let me in. The interior was sparsely furnished but surprisingly clean. I perched on a chair that was too large for me, my feet barely touching the floor.
"My sister has been matched with a Fanghorn," I blurted out. "Gristholm."
Recognition flashed in his eyes. "That is... unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?" I repeated, anger flaring. "It's a death sentence. You know what they're like."
